Page 45 of Anice’s Bargain

Laird Graham lingered until Isla grabbed his arm and hauled him from the room, leaving James and Anice finally alone with the door closed and locked.

Anice had only to meet James’s hot stare before he drew her into his arms and his mouth caught hers. He tasted of ale and wonderful spicy male. With one arm curled around her for support, he edged her back to the wall, pinning her there with his hard body.

Anice rose on tiptoe to kiss him, her face tilted upward. Her neck pinched at the angle, but the reward was well worth the effort. His lips, his tongue. Nipping, licking, kissing, sucking.

He grabbed her bottom with his hands and hoisted her up onto his waist, holding her aloft with the press of his pelvis to hers. She had to spread her legs to accommodate the new position. It left her center open beneath the layers of costly fabric, and the hard length of him jutting against her.

Pleasure tore through her like torrents of fire. Every nerve tingled and heated, wanting more and more and more. She’s fantasized of him here, like this, with her back against the wall and his hips thrusting against hers.

Why was he making her wait so long? Why did he not push up her skirts and extinguish the burning ache at her core?

“Please, James,” she panted.

His mouth dragged up her neck and his reply rasped in her ear. “What do ye want?”

“You.” She arched her hips to show how genuinely she did desire him, how frustrated she was with the drag of time.

That was when she sensed the subtle dam holding back his power splinter apart, and the tide of his strength breaking through.

* * *

James’s braincould barely form a thought. His body was fueled by pure desire. He stroked his tongue deeply into her mouth, his hands groping and teasing. All the while, his cock strained with ferocity into the soft heat buried beneath layers of Anice’s gown.

She wanted him.

She wanted him.

He tugged her bodice down and pulled free one creamy, pink-tipped breast. Perfection. His mouth closed on it, pulling deep, while his tongue flicked against the hardening bud.

Anice cried out and clutched his head to her bosom. She was grinding her hips against his, an awkward motion against the wall to be sure, but the friction still nearly drove him mad.

He pushed up her skirt. Skirts, rather. And a damn lot of them, at that. Layer after layer, he peeled back, like a flower with too many bloody petals and the sweetest, sweetest nectar within. His palms brushed milky white thighs that trembled against his touch, and his fingertips grazed her center. Wet with wanting, swollen with need.

Anice buried her face against his neck and cried out.

He ran the length of his middle finger up and down her sex, never quite touching the engorged bud at the top. Energy raced in his veins like lightning, blazing a path into every muscle, heightening every sensation. Too much want. It threatened to overwhelm him.

Here. There. Now. Later. Naked. Different ways. Dress falling around his hips while she rode him. Here against the hard wall. Through the night. All of it.

Her hands roamed down his torso. There was no hesitation as she reached between their bodies and molded her hands to the outline of his cock. His bollocks tightened.

A growl tore from his throat. He grabbed her hands and pushed them gently, but firmly, to the wall, so she remained aloft only by his body pressed greedily to hers.

She clung to him with her thighs, squeezing, grinding, opening and flexing. It would be so easy to take her like this. To tug free the ties of his breeches and let his cock spring free from its brutal confines. One thrust.

He dragged his mouth down her flushed chest to one bared breast, tipped with a hardened nipple and desperate for suckling.

One thrust and he would sink into her wet heat, buried to the hilt. She panted in excited gasps. He released her hands and grasped her bottom, holding her in place while his right hand jerked at his ties. One thrust. She would be his. Here. Now.

His elbow knocked the table and something on its surface gave a wobbling rattle. A stone jar. The ointment the healer had sent up. To ease a virgin’s first time, she’d claimed.

In an instant, that little pot of balm broke through the frenzy of his lust. He couldn’t take her against a wall, or with a single lusty push. He needed to be gentle. No matter how much she begged for it, he would need to ease her through this.

With a harsh gasp, he carefully eased her to the ground and backed away. Her dress swept over her legs once more, the fabric crumpled.

She blinked and her reddened mouth fell open. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Nay, lass. I did.”